


Fic February - 5

by stubliminalmessaging



Series: Fic!February 2014 - Gallavich Style [5]
Category: Shameless (US)
Genre: Fic!February, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-02-05
Updated: 2014-02-05
Packaged: 2018-01-11 06:25:35
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 839
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1169760
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/stubliminalmessaging/pseuds/stubliminalmessaging
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Day five of fic February - five times Ian tried to hold Mickey's hand and got shot down and the one time Mickey initiated it. (part 5)</p>
            </blockquote>





	Fic February - 5

                “Mick, just let me do it, you’re ruining it,” Ian insisted, a little whiny as he reached to take the peeler away from Mickey.

 

                “It’s one fuckin’ potato, lemme finish it,” Mickey growled, elbowing Ian in the ribs when he tried to move in and help. He was great with knives (growing up in a family of convicts did that to a guy) but figures he couldn’t peel a fucking potato without mutilating the potato and shredding his fingers to ribbons. He went in for the last swipe, to remove the last patch of skin from the cursed thing and was feeling pretty smug when pain lanced up from his finger and he cursed. He held his breath and put the potato in the pot of water with the other ones he’d peeled (not too many, he was honestly shit at this) and tried to pretend it didn’t happen but he was just bleeding all over everything and Ian noticed immediately.

 

                “Shit, Mickey,” he mumbled, tugging the peeler from Mickey’s other hand and dropping it on the counter.

 

                “It’s nothing, Gallagher,” Mickey grumbled but Ian had him by his good hand and dragged him up the stairs. He bitched and complained the whole way but Ian ignored him until they reached the bathroom. Ian was uncharacteristically stubborn and not taking Mickey’s shit this time as he switched hands and dragged Mickey’s injured hand under the faucet before cranking the water on. Mickey winced and swore at Ian and made a half-hearted attempt to pull away, but Ian just held his wrist tighter.

 

                Mickey quieted down then and let Ian clean the little nicks and the one sizeable gouge he’s managed to inflict upon himself. Ian felt more than a little smug about this because if Mickey really wanted to get away from Ian he could easily overpower him. Of course, Mickey had always been more romantic in the things he _didn’t_ do or say than in the things he did.

 

                Once Ian was done rinsing the blood and potato grit off of Mickey’s cuts he turned the sink off and circled around him, never once letting go of Mickey’s hand. He plucked a box of band-aids from the basket of miscellaneous bathroom stuff on the floor and took a seat on the closed toilet lid. He looked up at Mickey, who just blinked at him, brows furrowed.

 

                “You gonna sit on the stool or are you gonna stand there looking at me all night?” Ian asked and Mickey scoffed.

 

                “I’m not a fuckin’ kid, I don’t need your help,” he said, trying to pull his hand out of Ian’s. Ian just held on and rolled his eyes.

 

                “Right, just like you didn’t need help with the potatoes,” Ian said, and Mickey could tell he was really only worried about him and he guessed he could let the corny fuckin’ carrot-top take care of him _just this one time_.

 

                So he nudged the stool under the sink with his foot until it was where he needed it, then he sat down on it. He felt stupid and his legs stuck out at weird angles because the stool was so short, but he’d allow a few minutes of this if it would make Ian happy and make him feel less guilty about making the kid worry.

 

                When Ian peeled the backing off a cartoon character band-aid Mickey almost bolted but the raw look of concern in those stupid green eyes kept him still so Ian could finish bandaging him up. He zoned out a bit, possibly maybe almost enjoying the attention he was receiving, and didn’t come back until he heard Ian snort out a laugh.

 

                “The fuck you laughin’ at?” Mickey asked, trying for his usual charming abrasive self. Ian was past being intimidated by that though so he just grinned that dumb fucking smile of his and shrugged.

 

                Mickey’s eyes flicked down to see Ian had finished bandaging him up and had instead switched to just holding his hand. Not just holding his hand, Mickey realized with a degree of panic. Their fingers were fucking _entwined_ or some shit, and he had been perfectly content to sit there squeezing Gallagher’s hand while his mind wandered.

 

                He yanked his hand back and scratched at his balls before he stood up, lest he give Ian the wrong idea, and leaned over the sink, spitting into it. He looked down at the distinctly Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtles print band-aids that covered his cuts and shrugged. Firecrotch didn’t do half bad.

 

                He headed for the door and was pleased to see Ian descending the stairs behind him. Ian took up the peeler before Mickey could even get to it, and insisted that everything else was done and ready and that Mickey should just sit down and have a beer.

 

                Mickey did, because who would say no to that? He leaned against the bar side of the counter and drank his beer lazily as he watched Ian make quick work of the potatoes. Show-off.


End file.
